Clairemont residents Anita and Nathan Weedmark hold a picture of their daughter Elizabeth, a 19-year-old who was killed in a car accident in 2006. Hayne Palmour IV • U-T

The most proven human building block is the pain called heartbreak. It forces our minds into a dark place called grief, but to a person open to its instruction, it can also strengthen character.

Grief is a toothache of the heart. It’s a pit of quicksand that tightens its hold the more you fight it. It is only when you grow calm that it lets you live.

Anita and Nathan Weedmark had grief forced on them. But they decided to turn their pain into energy and use it to help other people’s children.

The Weedmarks, who met in college years ago, were early devotees of the arts, and the arts fulfilled them in a way that money never could. After moving to San Diego, Anita, became accomplished at the piano, both as performer and teacher.

Nathan became a guitar instructor and an artist whose skill gained admirers widely. He developed diabetes at 32, but otherwise the years passed and they matured gently.

The couple was childless and poor, but content with each other.

I would call the Weedmarks residual flower children. That’s a compliment. I don’t mean the free-love dopers of the ’60s, but the best of those of that time who still believe that loving peace can somehow make peace happen.

They were both in their mid-30s when, surprise, along came a little blond bundle playfully called “Izabiss” by her parents, which was her first attempt to pronounce her own name of Elizabeth. She became a starburst of kindness, talent and purpose, and turned a sedate couple into a robust family.

They eventually moved into their present small home in Clairemont, which would be just about big enough for some garages in Rancho Santa Fe. But no one in a gated community could claim more. It was big enough for happiness.

The dry facts of their lives don’t capture the texture of these people, Anita and Nathan. They are kind and gentle souls, and that is not a cliché. That’s made clear by the soft tone of their words, the way they accept all religions that preach peace and the grace with which they accept the humble way they live. And that was how they raised their daughter.

Elizabeth’s generous spirit and accomplishments caused pride in her parents and happiness in a wide circle of friends who shared her love of drama, dancing, art and writing. No muse seemed beyond her reach. In plain talk, she was a nice kid with a lot going for her.

In her late teens, Elizabeth often lay in her bedroom journaling thoughts that all such girls harbor. She was a poet whose words sought meaning in flowers and sunsets, but she was also an emerging woman struggling with the hormonal mysteries of the young. She wrote: